


Bottle of White

by CGotAnAccount



Series: Italian Restaurant [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Domestic Fluff, M/M, SHEITH - Freeform, Teeth, definitely not a serial killer shiro, definitely not oblivious keith
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-29
Updated: 2018-12-29
Packaged: 2019-09-30 04:24:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,252
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17216924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CGotAnAccount/pseuds/CGotAnAccount
Summary: Keith is a patient man.Admittedly, he hasn't always been – the hot head stereotype following him though his teens and early twenties – but he has been tempered with age and good companionship. His fuse is long. He does breathing exercises. Shiro even got him into yoga...But there are teeth in his ibuprofen bottle and he really really has a headache.





	Bottle of White

**Author's Note:**

> Ask and you shall receive! (A part two)

Keith is a patient man.

Admittedly, he hasn't always been – the hot head stereotype following him though his teens and early twenties – but he has been tempered with age and good companionship. His fuse is long. He does breathing exercises. Shiro even got him into yoga...

But there are teeth in his ibuprofen bottle and he really _really_ has a headache.

It's not even like the teeth are really the issue, he's found much weirder things in much weirder places, but right now he needs this bottle to be filled with Not Teeth.

And it's not filled with Not Teeth.

It's filled with teeth.

Teeth that rattled promisingly when he was digging through the medicine cabinet to find anything to ease the tension headache he'd come home with. Teeth that he had found inside three bottles in a row now that he's looking in each bottle.

Teeth that he's about ready to grind up and snort if it would do anything to help with the throbbing between his eyes.

Blessedly, the bottle labeled Oxycontin has Not Teeth in it when he yanks open the cap with a growl. Shiro had gotten the prescription months ago after a particularly bad bout with the pain in his shoulder, but had never actually taken them, hesitant to dabble with narcotics in his pain ridden state.

At this point, with the throbbing in his head and the growing pile teeth shaped annoyance, Keith had no such reservations.

How strong could it be?

He pops two and swallows them dry, recapping all the bottles of teeth and bringing them out to the kitchen counter out of sheer pettiness.

Shiro can have his weird hobbies all he wants, but he can keep them out of the medicine cabinet.

Settling onto the couch to wait seems the natural choice when every creak of the house drives a wedge of pain into his brain. He dims the lights and turns a nature documentary on low, letting the dulcet tones of David Attenborough soothe his foul mood.

Thirty minutes later Keith has an idea why Shiro didn't want to take these on a whim.

The pounding in his head has greatly subsided, replaced by a feeling that one might generously describe as 'loopy' – not that he isn't still totally lucid and in control of all his mental faculties. He totally is.

He's just... better.

Keith smiles serenely at the penguins on the TV, nodding along to David as he peels himself off the couch to get a glass of water. He stops at the kitchen island and scowls down at the stupid containers full of teeth on the way.

Teeth.

In his ibuprofen bottles.

He had almost forgotten to be annoyed.

Scooping one of the bottles off the table only makes sense, after all he doesn't want to forget to tell Shiro off when he gets home. The kidney in the sink last month had been one thing, but unlabeled teeth is entirely another – they have tape, they have sharpies... how hard is it to label your bottle full of teeth?

Really it's the principle of the thing.

Glass of water and bottle of teeth acquired, he trudges back to the couch and re-floofs his pillow nest, preparing for further education on birds.

The shot on the TV pans to a tropical island covered in greenery and macaws, steel drum music plays quietly. Keith shifts forward in interest, teeth rattling in their bottle next to him, and suddenly he is inspired.

If Shiro uses them for creative pursuits, why can't he?

Lifting the bottle gingerly he gives it an experimental rattle. It will do nicely.

He rewinds to the beginning of the segment and matches the beat of the steel drums, brow furrowed in concentration as visions of happy macaws flap by in colorful waves. It's almost as if he were on a tropical vacation - by the time it gets to the giant parrots he can safely say that he sounds pretty damn good.

When Shiro comes in through the front door ten minutes later Keith is positively jamming out, having grabbed another bottle of teeth for the off-beat as he shimmies and grooves to the sound of his makeshift maracas.

Shiro drops his bag and rubs his eyes. Keith is still there, still shaking his tail feathers as they were.

He takes a tentative step toward the couch, eyeing the TV as it shifts into a scene with eagles and the music becomes more subdued.

“Aww.” Keith opens his eyes with a pout and gives his maracas a petulant shake as he reaches for the remote to restart the segment for the third time. Shiro's bewildered presence draws him up short.

“You're home!” He crows, shaking one bottle excitedly. The noise reminds him of his grievance and he promptly schools his face into a scowl and shakes a finger at his husband.

“Label your teeth!”

Shiro starts backward. “I beg your pardon?”

“Your teeth. They're unlabeled.” Keith shakes the bottle for emphasis and points to the 'ibuprofen' label on the side.

Shiro cocks his head to the side and slides onto the couch, lifting the second bottle of teeth and looking inside.

“You're upset because they're... not labeled?”

Keith rolls his eyes in response. “Yes. What kind of person empties the painkillers and puts Not Painkillers back in the medicine cabinet.”

“Ah...” Shiro opens and closes his mouth twice, squinting at Keith's face and dilated pupils. “I'm sorry?”

Keith's snort is only mildly derisive.

“Of course you are.” He pats Shiro on the thigh and gestures to the little bottle on the counter, teeth sliding merrily in his own held bottle. “It's okay though, I found your other ones... the oxyginywhatevers”

Shiro's eyebrows rise to his hairline. “You took the Oxycontin?”

A dismissive hand flap waves away his tone of concern.

“Yeah, whatever. The good stuff. My head hurt.” Keith levels him with his flattest stare and shakes the bottle again. “The point is, labeling.”

Shiro blinks at him. “You're okay with the teeth?”

Keith shrugs and pops the top of his bottle open to look at the contents again.

“Yeah, why not. Do you make like macaroni card art with them?” He cocks his head in thought and squints at the calendar across the room. “Or are you saving up for like... a teeth necklace present for your dentist?”

Shiro gapes at him in silence.

“Well, whatever.” Keith shrugs again and screws the top back on. “If this is some sort of surprise for me, maybe like... glitter them or something so it looks less like teeth, okay?”

They're kind of freaky, but he wouldn't ever discourage Shiro from an idea if he was excited. He's loved every gift Shiro has ever given him, and not even some creepy crafting will change that.

Shiro nods dumbly at him and gently takes the bottle of teeth from his grasp. He snags the others off the counter and digs a sharpie out of the junk drawer, still staring at Keith in a sort of stupefied wonder.

He pauses, sharpie raised as he looks at his husband draped over the couch, still watching bird documentaries.

“I love you, Keith.”

Keith lolls his head over to the side to throw him a wide smile.

“I love you too, weirdo.”

Huffing a laugh, Shiro shakes his head and presses the sharpie to the bottle, writing 'Not Painkillers' in his neat scrawl.

Glancing up at his husband again, he smiles and adds a little heart.

 


End file.
